


Sweet As Pie

by orphan_account



Series: Ego Christmas 2k17 [4]
Category: Markiplier Egos, Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Dark's grumpy, Dark's judgement of Host is pretty spot on he is in fact a smug bastard, M/M, Wil's just trying to do something nice for the holidays, but isn't he always?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-11
Updated: 2017-12-11
Packaged: 2019-02-13 14:51:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12986403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Dark just wants his coffee. Wil has other plans.





	Sweet As Pie

**Author's Note:**

> For Ego Christmas Day 7: Pie

“Okay Google, any particular reason you’re standing directly in my way?”

Google stiffened, eyes flashing blue.

“I have been instructed to not allow you into the kitchen.”

Dark felt his aura strain under his control with his irritation. He rolled his neck, realigning the broken vertebrae with a loud crack, and stared impassively at the android.

“By whom?”

“Wilford.”

Of course.

“And why is Wil trying to keep me out of the kitchen?”

Google blinked, processing.

“I… do not know.”

Dark rubbed his temples; he’d had quite enough of this. He started to step forward, but Google drew himself up, eyes flashing again.

“I cannot violate a direct order. I have been instructed to not allow you into the kitchen.”

“Okay Google,” Dark hissed, “get out of my way.”

A holographic screen materialized in front of him.

**ERROR**   
**SYSTEM OVERRIDE**   
**CONFLICT WITH EXECUTIVE ORDER**

For a moment, Dark considered teleporting past Google, but Wilford’s bubblegum aura permeated the kitchen, and he doubted he could get in anyways.

“You’re lucky I’m not in the mood to dismantle you,” Dark said, before turning on his heel and storming back through the office.

 

The door to Dark’s office opened with a creak, a shadowy silhouette falling across his desk.

“Unless you brought coffee, I’m going to dump you into Trimmer’s wood chipper.”

“The Host felt this might be the case.”

Dark looked up from his paperwork, accepting a cup of coffee from the Host with restrained gratefulness.

There was the sound of a muffled explosion from the kitchen downstairs. Dark grabbed a flask from his desk, poured some of the contents into his mug, and took a long sip of the (now much stronger) coffee.

“What is he doing down there?”

“The Host refuses to spoil the surprise,” the Host smiled as he spoke, that smug bastard.

“Does the Host also refuse to sit down?”

“This visit will not last much longer.”

Dark took another sip of coffee.

“That’s… ominous.”

There was another muffled explosion, somewhat quieter this time. Dark rubbed his eyes, sighing heavily. He’d never felt so utterly exhausted.

The Host crossed his arms over his chest. He still looked smug, or maybe he was just incredibly amused by the whole ordeal.

“Google will no longer block the entrance to the kitchen,” he said, rather suddenly.

 

“Dark! I was about to go looking for you!”

Wilford was something to behold. He was coated in flour, his hair sticking up in all directions, wearing an impossibly pink chef’s apron, with some kind of dark purple substance smeared on one of his cheeks. The kitchen was even more of a mess, not a single surface had been spared.

Hurricane Wilford struck again.

Dark held his annoyance in check, presumably Wilford had kept him out of the kitchen all morning for a reason.

“And what have you been up to?” he asked, surveying the area. This would be a nightmare to clean up.

Wilford smiled, lighting up the whole room.

“I was making something for you,” he said.

Dark had figured as much.

Wilford retrieved a freshly baked pie from one of the countertops. In spite of the chaos and mess around it, the pie looked perfect, the top patterned into little snowflakes.

“It’s your favorite!” Wilford exclaimed in sing-song, handing the pie to Dark.

Lavender pie, Dark held back a smile, it _was_ his favorite.

“What’s this for, Wil?”

The brighter ego seemed taken aback.

“‘Tis the season, darling.”

“Well,” Dark deadpanned, setting the pie down, “I’ll need someone to share this with.”

Wilford’s pink eyes glittered with sheer joy. He pulled Dark into a crushing hug, which the other ego returned, if only briefly.

“Merry Christmas, Dark.”

“Merry Christmas, Wil.” Dark finally allowed himself a smile. “You’re cleaning up the kitchen.”


End file.
